(written for my wife)
S pring always comes, however slow it seems,
A nd on the trees at last from sleeping wood
N ew growth sprouts green where black twigs starkly stood.
D istant the winter now; like far-off dreams
R ecalling snow, white blossom-petals fall
A nd throw confetti down on warming earth.
H ere after months of sleep the signs of birth
A s daffodils thrust up and songbirds call.
N ow the breeze blows more gently on fresh grass,
S un gives its blessing, sky's a softer blue.
F rom greener woods then pipes the bold cuckoo.
O ur thoughts move on to summer. Spring will pass,
R ipe summer turn to fall, and winter, then,
D epend upon it, spring will come again.
W ith the various images here you seem to tell SH that if cyclicity is the law of nature, hope and regeneration are part of it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This beautifully descriptive double delight shows no restriction of conformity. The inevitability of Spring arriving slowly gives the sonnet a special edge of yearning for its coming. The imagery of the blossom petals recalling snow and throwing the confetti on the warming earth made me think of a Spring bride (perhaps it could have been used in the imagery) . I felt the joy in the second stanza as nature rejoices and loved the cuckoo (my Father's uncle composed the Cuckoo Waltz so I am biased) Wonderful writing Paul. 10 Karin Anderson